


Dollface

by RosadelValle



Series: Heart of darkness [8]
Category: Der Hauptmann | The Captain (2017)
Genre: Third Reich, WWII, aesthetic, exploring the dark side, i'm quarantined this is a cry for help, them good old nazis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosadelValle/pseuds/RosadelValle
Summary: The Captain’s young age didn’t surprise him that much at first nor it made him think: Freytag just assumed that Herr Herold came from a wealthy family, and climbed the ladder thanks to important connections someone like him could only dream about. And you had to admit that he was pretty aryan looking, which it doesn’t hurt, especially in some circles. Especially if you know how to wear a uniform so well.
Series: Heart of darkness [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1357984
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Dollface

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally a cry for help. Being quarantined is killing me.  
> But this movies was so aesthetic.
> 
> This is part of a series of short stories about movie villains with an eye for history.

Freytag approached the lost Captain out of fear, out of hope: attaching yourself to someone who outranks you is the best way to get out of many difficult situations. Defecting being one of them. What turned opportunity into loyalty though, was the gift of an apple: a small and condescending gesture, but not devoid of a certain grace. 

The Captain’s young age didn’t surprise him that much at first nor it made him think: Freytag just assumed that Herr Herold came from a wealthy family, and climbed the ladder thanks to important connections someone like him could only dream about. And you had to admit that he was pretty aryan looking, which it doesn’t hurt, especially in some circles. Especially if you know how to wear a uniform so well.

By the time they reached the prison camp, the vague uneasiness Freytag had started to feel when his Captain shot the first looter, had bloomed into full misery. He could barely write but it didn’t take a genius to understand that Herr Herold’s mission, if there ever was one, had gone to hell. And no family friend could make a Captain out of a kid: Freytag couldn’t possibly know how old Herr Herold really was, but with those round cheeks and soft hair he looked younger than the youngest of his sons, who was twentyfour. 

And despite all of his bravado and his impressive charisma, the Captain never stopped acting like the brat he must have been just a few years before. When they mowed down all those men and he covered his ears, Freytag could see his youngest son again, covering his ears during the fireworks down to the village. But these weren’t fireworks, this was the sound of a badly botched execution, even if “botched” was too lenient and “execution” was too technical. What had happened was a plain simple massacre. And yet, when the captain ordered him to get in the trench and shoot the agonizing prisoners, he didn’t obey just out of fear and hope. 

He obeyed out of loyalty, because you can’t refuse anything to a man that was able to forge such an iron will that even older and more powerful men were forced to submit themselves to it, a will so intense to even twist reality. Freytag had always considered himself a good citizen but a mediocre national-socialist: he never doubted what the Party said but he never really felt an aryan, never really felt a deep connection with his blood and soil. Call it being thick in the head, call it being ignorant: he couldn’t even stand Wagner. But days later, while driving with the Captain regally leaning against windshield, Freytag found himself surprised to know how it feels to serve a demigod.


End file.
